Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 155: The Malik’s Fury

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Courtyard — Before the Chaos]

The court had only just emptied, voices fading, footsteps dissolving into marble corridors, but the palace had not settled because something was wrong.

Zeramet descended the steps toward the Malika’s private courtyard, measured and unhurried. Yet the moment he crossed the arch, the air struck him, sharp, disordered, and alive with agitation.

At the center of the courtyard chaos. Asha prowled in tight, restless circles, her tail lashing, a low growl vibrating through her chest. Beside her, Lyresaph jumped around, a sharp, echoing cry cutting through the courtyard walls.

They were not playing; they were searching and failing. Iru stood at the edge of it, hands raised and voice strained.

"...Please calm yourselves!"

But they did not listen because instinct had already told them what the palace had not yet dared to say.

Zeramet stopped; his gaze sharpened. "What is this?"

Not loud but enough. Asha froze first, her head snapping toward him—then she moved fast. She closed the distance in a breath. Circling him, growling low, not in threat but in agitation.

Lyresaph followed, descending sharply, jumping before him, claws scraping stone. A short, sharp roar of demand.

Zeramet’s eyes narrowed. "...What’s wrong with you two?"

Behind them, Iru and the attendants dropped immediately, bowing low. "We greet the Malik—"

"I do not want your greeting." The words cut clean and cold. "...I want an answer."

Heavy and unforgiving silence. Iru swallowed, his voice steadier than his pulse. "Malik...the Malika has not been seen...since morning."

The courtyard stilled. Even the creatures stopped moving because now it had been spoken. Zeramet did not react immediately, and that was worse.

"...Since when?" His voice lowered, too controlled. "...What about the morning breakfast?"

A faint tremor slipped into Iru’s tone. "... He did not take his meal ..."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"...and since then...no one has seen him." Iru finished.

An absolute silence.

Zeramet’s gaze shifted slowly across the courtyard. The empty space, the untouched table, and the absence.

His absence.

"And why did you not report this to me?"

Not anger, not yet, but something colder.

Iru lowered his head further. "... We believed...he was within his chambers...we did not wish to disturb—"

"You did not wish—" Zeramet stepped forward; the ground seemed to tighten beneath him. "...to disturb my consort, and now he is not here?"

His voice dropped lower and silence cracked. Asha growled again, low. Lyresaph jumped again, agitated because now even the Malik acknowledged it.

Zeramet exhaled slowly, and with it something changed. The air thickened; his pheromones spread, but not wildly, not uncontrolled, but dominating, heavy, and commanding.

The attendants trembled, breath catching, spines lowering instinctively. Iru’s hands tightened against the stone.

"Search." The word fell like judgment. "...Every chamber, every corridor, and every hidden passage."

His gaze darkened, sharp and lethal. "... If anything happens to my consort...I will end every single one of you."

Silence, and then he turned, not waiting, not hesitating because this was no longer concern; this was pursuit, and beneath the control, beneath the measured breath—something far more dangerous stirred: possession.

"...Find him." The final command echoed not through the courtyard but through the entire palace, and just like that, the search had begun.

***

[Silthara Palace — Later — After an Hour]

Time had passed, but the palace had not calmed; it had fractured. Footsteps echoed in every corrido. Doors opened, closed, and opened again.

Servants whispered. Guards moved faster than command allowed, and at the center of it all, Zeramet remained seated. Upon the low stone step of the inner hall.

One hand rested against his knee—fingers tapping once and twice. Then stopping because patience was thinning. Around him the air had thickened into something unbreathable, not chaos, not noise, but pressure.

A presence that demanded answers and found none. An attendant rushed in, breath uneven, steps faltering, and then dropped to his knees.

"My Malik—!"

Silence.

Zeramet did not look at him immediately, low and controlled. "...Speak."

The attendant swallowed, "...We have searched the eastern wing... the lower halls... the private gardens.... The Malika is not there."

Silence, and then another attendant rushed in, "...The northern chambers have been cleared, Malik; there is...no trace."

Another.

"...The outer gates report no passage... No sign of departure."

And then, Iru stepped in, his voice breaking. "...We cannot find the Malika."

Silence did not fall. It collapsed. Zeramet’s hand stilled completely for a moment; nothing moved, and then slowly he stood, not abruptly, not violently, but worse, measured and deliberate.

"...Again." When the word came quietly, the attendants froze. "...Search again."

His gaze lifted, and something within it had changed, not anger but something colder.

"...Because if he is not within these walls...then he has been taken."

The word settled and taken, It did not belong in Zahryssar, not in his palace, not to him. The air shifted violently; his pheromones surged, no longer restrained and no longer measured but dominant and oppressive.

The attendants bent lower, breath hitching, bodies trembling beneath the weight of it.

Zeramet stepped forward.

"Who...would dare to lay a hand on what is mine?" His voice dropped further, dark and possessive.

Silence.

No one answered because no one could. Zeramet turned toward the weapon stand without hesitation; he reached and closed around the hilt of his sword. Steel sang softly as it left its sheath.

A sound that did not belong to peace. The blade caught the torchlight cold and unforgiving. Zeramet did not look at it; he looked ahead.

"...Seal the palace." The command fell like a decree of war. "No one leaves and no one enters; search every serpent, every servant."

His voice lowered deadly.

"...Every shadow that dares exist within my walls."

The attendants trembled because this was no longer a search; this was a purge. Zeramet’s gaze darkened further—something raw beneath the control, not just anger but fear buried and denied but present.

"...If he has been taken...then I will tear this empire apart until I find my consort or I will ensure no one else remains so."

The words did not rise; they sank into the bones of the palace itself.

Silence followed, because now the Malik was no longer waiting; he was hunting, and when Zeramet hunted, nothing survived in his path.

***

[Silthara Palace — Inner Hall — Later]

The palace had fallen to its knees, not in loyalty not in reverence but In fear. Rows upon rows of attendants and serpents knelt heads lowered, breath unsteady—As the air thickened with something dark and something suffocating.

Zeramet stood before them sword drawn, his presence swallowing the hall whole. Black lotus pheromones spread like poison through still water slow, relentless and unforgiving.

"...My consort..." His voice came low, too low. "...has been missing...since morning."

No one dared move.

"...And none you...have seen him."

Deadly silence.

"...Do you take me..." His grip tightened on the sword. "...for a fool?"

No roar, no shout but that was worse than anything. Control stretched thin like a blade about to snap.

"...You live...within my palace...Under my sight...Under my protection, and yet..." His gaze darkened. "...you see nothing."

The attendants trembled harder—Foreheads pressing against the cold stone.

"...What purpose..." Zeramet lifted his sword the blade gleaming under torchlight. "...do you serve...If you cannot even guard what belongs to me?"

Silence broke into silent panic. Some wept quietly others froze completely because they understood. This was not anger, this was judgment.

"...Then perhaps..." Zeramet’s voice lowered further deadly. "...you are no longer needed."

The sword rose slow and deliberate to fall and end every single one of them.

"What is going on here?" The voice did not belong to fear. It did not belong to the hall. It belonged to Levin and everything stopped. Zeramet stilled completely.

The blade did not fall and slowly he turned, and there Levin stood, veiled, hooded and unharmed.

Behind him—Lady Arinaya and Raevahn stood both visibly affected—Their bodies reacting to the suffocating pheromones—Yet holding themselves upright.

Levin, however did not move. His gaze rested on Zeramet steady and unshaken. The sword in Zeramet’s hand lowered but the air did not ease, not yet.

"...Malik..." Levin stepped forward a hint of confusion in his tone. "...What has happened?"

No answer, only silence answered him.

—Then—

"...Where were you?" The question cut through everything.

Levin met his gaze. "...I was—"

Zeramet moved fast. Closing the distance in a single breath. His presence crashed against Levin—Not striking—But overwhelming.

"...Do you know..." His voice dropped rough now. "...how long I searched? Do you know...what thoughts crossed my mind?"

His hand lifted gripping Levin’s arm firm and possessive.

"...Did you think...not to inform me? Not even once? Or do you not feel any necessary to tell your husband where are you going? Am I not someone important to you?"

Levin did not pull away, did not flinch. He only looked at him calm. "...I wished to see the city...I did not wish to trouble you."

That broke something.

Zeramet’s grip tightened as a sharp breath left him, almost laugh but not. "...Trouble me? Consort...You vanished from my palace."

His voice lowered dangerous again but threaded now with something else.

"...You carry my heirs and you think that is not trouble?"

A Heavy silence then without another word—Zeramet pulled him closer turning sharply.

"...No one approaches the chamber." The command fell behind him absolute. Attendants bowed deeper none daring to move.

Arinaya and Raevahn remained still watching because this was no longer a matter for them. Zeramet did not release Levin’s arm—as he led him away—his steps controlled but the anger was still there, still burning not yet resolved.

And behind them—the hall remained frozen because they had just witnessed it not the Malik’s fury but his fear.